Double Blind

They meet in an abandoned greenhouse behind the old rec center. The scene is moody and tense—half-thriller, half-confessional. Damien admits he’s been tracking the Fox on his own, using dark-net forums and data leaks from dom communities. He warns Dominique that the Fox is escalating and might not be working alone. As they argue over control and risk, the chemistry between them sparks again. It ends with an intimate, suggestive moment as they share a quiet, stolen kiss—not lustful, but protective—and Dominique asks, “What if this is all a game we’re meant to lose?”Dominique didn’t sleep. She just stared at the faint green light of her charging laptop, glowing like a threat in the dark.

By morning, she was back in Marco’s apartment, caffeine in one hand, USB key in the other.

He was already up, crouched over two monitors, three phones, and a fourth screen scrolling lines of code she didn’t recognize.

“You pulled metadata, right?” she asked as she tossed the USB onto the desk.

“Not just pulled it,” Marco said, eyes bloodshot. “I sliced it up. Stream logs, server jumps, ping records. Took forever. He’s a ghost.”

Dominique leaned closer. “But?”

“But ghosts still leave shadows.” He tapped the screen. “Whoever this is, he bounced through six continents in under sixty seconds. VPNs, Tor nodes, dummy servers… but this”—he pointed to a spike in the stream log—“this was an edit in real time. Midstream. A flicker of code embedded in your camera feed.”

“He injected something during the stream?”

Marco nodded grimly. “It wasn’t just a watcher. He participated. Changed the shadow quality in frame twenty-two, flipped a single frame of your eyes upside down. One frame. Barely perceptible unless you’re scanning for it.”

Dominique’s blood ran cold.

“And this?” Marco clicked again, revealing a list of usernames connected to the stream—most encrypted or anonymized. One wasn’t.

User: RedFeather.Bx9

Dominique narrowed her eyes. “That’s familiar.”

“It should be. That alias was a historical donor tag. Linked to your mother’s digital address book from back when she hosted charity galas.”

Dominique’s jaw clenched. “So the Fox might not just know me. He might know my family.”

Marco looked at her. “And if that’s true… he’s not just obsessed. He’s invested.”

Dominique turned away, voice low. “Then it’s time I stop playing defensively.”

Marco raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

She grinned, cold and deliberate. “I want to do another stream. But this time, I’m not the show. He is.”

Part II: A Wolf’s Warning

The greenhouse behind the old rec center smelled like wet moss and forgotten secrets. Sunlight pushed through broken panels in streaks, painting Dominique’s skin with fractured gold as she stood alone.

She didn’t have to wait long.

Damien emerged from the other side of the overgrown yard—dark hoodie, helmet under one arm, jaw sharp with tension. He didn’t speak right away.

“Thought you might ghost me,” she said, not looking up.

“I should’ve,” he replied. “But you looked too wired in your last stream to be pretending.”

Dominique met his gaze, her expression unreadable. “You were watching?”

“I always watch,” Damien said. “Especially when you’re dancing with fire.”

She paced. “You could’ve warned me.”

“I tried. But you don’t let people in. Not unless it’s your idea.”

She paused. “Fair.”

He stepped closer. “I’ve been digging. Quietly. Tracing messages through forums that cater to… darker clientele. Found a pattern. Someone’s been recruiting submissives off-grid. No safewords. No protection. They vanish afterward.”

Her spine straightened. “And you think it’s him.”

“I know it is.”

A beat of silence.

Dominique finally spoke, voice softer. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because you don’t trust easily. And because I didn’t want you thinking I was another subscriber.”

Their eyes met, stormy and complex.

“What do you want from me, Damien?” she asked.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he set his helmet on a broken bench and moved beside her, close enough for her breath to catch.

“I want you safe,” he said. “Even if that means standing in front of you… or behind the mask.”

She looked up at him. “And if I don’t want safe?”

His hand brushed hers.

“Then I’ll give you dangerous, too.”

They didn’t kiss right away. The air between them vibrated with possibility, tension held like breath. And then, finally, he leaned in—slow, deliberate.

Their lips met.

Soft, not submissive. Commanding without conquest. It was a kiss that said I know what you hide and I’m not running.

When they pulled apart, Dominique whispered, “I don’t know who I’m more afraid of: the Fox… or you.”

Damien’s eyes burned.

“Then you’re finally asking the right questions.”

The greenhouse was thick with heat and silence. The air buzzed like a wire strung too tight. Dominique turned her back to Damien, running a finger across a pane of broken glass.

“I thought you were just another pretty face with a motorcycle and mood swings,” she said.

Damien smirked. “Still could be.”

“No. You’re hiding things. Just like me.”

He moved beside her, the crunch of gravel under his boots too loud in the stillness. “I tracked an old encrypted channel called Marionette's Mirror. Private invite-only. They trade digital footage. Some dom content, sure. But there’s one user—calls himself FoxWithTeeth—who’s posted increasingly violent material. Masks. Collars. Obedience contracts. Sound familiar?”

Her eyes went flat. “Very.”

“He commented on one of your early streams,” Damien added. “Before you blew up. I cross-referenced the timestamp. Same night you first used the alias Domica on your side Reddit account.”

Dominique went still. “He’s been watching since the beginning.”

“Or longer,” Damien said. “He may have created the beginning.”

She stepped back, stomach twisting. “What if… what if he’s not obsessed with Domica? What if he’s obsessed with Dominique?”

Damien nodded grimly. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

They stood in silence, the weight of it pressing into their bones. Then, in a sudden burst of frustration, Dominique threw a small shard of glass across the greenhouse, where it shattered against a wall of ivy.

Damien approached her carefully, like she might bolt.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he said.

“But I do,” she replied. “Because no one else can play both sides.”

He reached for her hand, slow and deliberate.

“And if I can?”

Her breath caught.

He didn’t kiss her immediately this time. He studied her first—the tremble in her lip, the steel in her spine, the ache in her gaze.

Then he kissed her—deep and full of consequence.

And when it broke, she whispered, “I’m afraid I might like you.”

Damien smiled faintly. “Then we’re both in danger now.”